Poison
by irmaida
Summary: "Still, his hand trembles as he slips the poison, a small white pill, into the wine. His entire body shakes as he watches the white pill dissolve into the liquid, becoming invisible. For the rest of the evening, he feels all pale and jittery." People aren't born cold-blooded murderers. Snow's rise to power.


_Poison_

\

The first time is the hardest time.

He's always hated Ernold Chrome, the district executive for One, who thinks that he is all high and mighty. It would be so _easy_, he thinks, to just slip something into his wineglass when no one was looking. The poison he has chosen is a slow working, but almost undetectable poison. A few weeks after this party, Ernold Chrome will have a heart attack and simply die. No one will suspect.

Still, his hand trembles as he slips the poison, a small white pill, into the wine. His entire body shakes as he watches the white pill dissolve into the liquid, becoming invisible. For the rest of the evening, he feels all pale and jittery. In fact, he feels so awful that he leaves early on account of a bad headache.

That night, he gets nightmares.

\

The Snow family was one of the most influential families in the Capitol.

For generations, a Snow had been the executive for District Two. There were twelve executives in all, one for each district, and these executives were the most powerful people in Panem—after the President, of course. Growing up, Coriolanus had been constantly reminded what an honor it was to be the executive for Two.

Of course, he wasn't going to inherit this position.

Of course not. Gloria, his older sister, as the favorite child, took the position. And Coriolanus was stuck with being the least powerful of all the executives—the executive for Twelve.

"You're just not good enough to be in charge of an _important _district like Two," his parents had told him. _Gloria _was the competent, intelligent one. The one who'd always outshone him at school, and at the training academy, and everywhere else. _Gloria Snow _was a well-known name throughout the entire country. And the day their father retired and given the position to Gloria, his family had held a party with the most expensive champagne they could afford.

"To Gloria," their parents had proudly declared, putting their wineglasses together for a toast.

(When Coriolanus took the position as the executive as Twelve, his parents had ruffled his hair and said in a disappointed voice, "I suppose that you did try your best.")

He hated being the executive for Twelve. The other executives obviously looked down on him. He was the butt of all jokes, the scapegoat for all mistakes. But one day he would show them all. He would climb the ladder and make it to the top. He would become President and wipe that stupid smirk off his sister's face.

Yes, he would.

\

The first day of his job as the executive for Twelve had been one of the worst days of his life.

He'd gotten lost in the huge building and turned up fifteen minutes late for the all-important executive meeting. Everyone had laughed at him—even his sister. For a second, he'd felt betrayed. Then he'd scolded himself for feeling such a way. His sister had always been like that—superior, condescending, arrogant. It wasn't _his _fault he had gotten lost. He'd been new; couldn't someone cut him a break? But no. They all laughed, and they never let him live it down.

The only executive who had viewed him as an equal was Seraphina Woodbrook, the executive for Seven.

"I see something in you, Cory," she'd told him once. "You're going to be big."

(Eventually, they fall in love.)

\

Five years passed, and nothing happened. He was still the executive for Twelve. Still the scapegoat. The butt. Rock bottom.

Then the President had announced that he would be out of office by the end of the next four years.

Thus, the race began.

\

His top competition, he'd decided, was Ernold Chrome.

So he must eliminate him.

\

Ernold Chrome dies of a horrible heart attack a few months after that fateful dinner party.

He has a terrible, terrible nightmare that night. He has just _murdered _someone. He wonders if he's imagining it, but he tastes blood on his lips. No, he isn't imagining. He remembers vaguely that he had drunk out of Chrome's poisoned cup that night to discourage suspicion. He'd slathered on plenty of that antidote on his lips afterward. But apparently it didn't work.

He feels as if there's a giant sign on his head. _Murderer, murderer, murderer!_ He's just committed cold-blooded murder. Surely, the other executives will notice and fire him, and then he shall be killed. Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. He can't sleep. He paces around in his room and applies more antidote.

_Get a hold of yourself, Snow_, he tells himself. _It had to be done_. He remembers the disappointed look on his parents' faces, and the other executives all laughing at him and making fun of him. He _will _amount to something. He is going to be President no matter what it takes. And he is going to take full advantage of Ernold Chrome's unfortunate accident. Perhaps he will be promoted to a decent district for once.

Besides, Ernold Chrome deserved it.

(But in his heart he's thinking about the one time Chrome was nice to him, when he'd complimented him on his District Twelve report, and they'd had a friendly conversation.)

He puts on some flowery rose scent perfume.

\

He doesn't get caught.

No one seems to notice the word _murderer _written all over his forehead. He plumb got away with it. His sister, Gloria, gets promoted to One. A man named Jaleel takes Gloria's place as the executive of Two, and he, Coriolanus, gets promoted to Four. A huge jump. He is so much closer to becoming President. He can't stop now. He will do anything to secure the position.

He does things the honest way for a while. He campaigns and makes speeches and kisses up to all the rich voters of the Capitol. But it isn't enough. As always, Gloria overshadows him. His sister is so much more powerful than he will ever be. She's the one all the rich and elite voters are putting their money on. She's got more influence, more charm and charisma and money.

"It's just so frustrating!" he complains to Sera, the only one who really listens to him. "Why must she always be better than me?"

Sera smiles and puts a soothing hand on his arm. "Oh, Cory, you've already done so much. I'm proud of you. No one will think any less of you if you don't become President."

He frowns. "Except me! I want this, Sera, I _need _it. I need to prove to myself—my parents—everyone—that I can do this!"

She leans in and kisses him, and he gives in to the kiss.

"I just need to prove this," he tells her.

"I know you can," she says. "I'm here to help."

\

He buys a bunch of some colorless poison in bulk. It's not the same poison he used on Chrome—it's a more expensive poison. It's completely undetectable but works quickly and efficiently. Plus, the antidote's guaranteed to work on it. For a while, it just sits in the back cupboard of his office—hidden, forgotten. One year passes. Two. Three. There's only one year left before the current President abdicates, and time is running out. Gloria's still on the top of the polls by a landslide, and he's getting desperate.

He eliminates his sister.

After that, things get crazy. He gets poison-crazy—paranoid—and eliminates _everyone _who might be a threat. The executive for Five, Adriana, a sneaky lady who'd wormed her way to the top of the polls after Gloria was eliminated. Or the executive from Nine, Oren, who was favored by the President because of his efficiency. Jaleel, who had become the executive for One after Gloria had died from her "accident." Everyone who is a threat gets eliminated. He will _secure _that position.

Each kill stays with him. He remembers Gloria, how even though his sister was so condescending and patronizing, she'd always affectionately ruffle his hair. And Adriana, who was always the first one to laugh at his jokes—and sometimes the only one. He remembers how Oren was always willing to help, and how Jaleel had once pointed him in the right direction when he'd gotten lost. He gets nightmares every night. On average, he's getting two or three hours of sleep each night. Coffee is what keeps him going, but it can't hide the dark circles under his eyes. Or the scent of blood on his lips.

"You smell like roses," Sera tells him one day.

"I like roses," he tells her lamely.

Sera frowns. "Cory, you're not the same man I fell in love with years ago. You've… changed. Cory, I'm scared for you."

(He doesn't tell her, but he's scared too.)

\

Sera's in his office one day when she finds the poison.

She closes the cupboard immediately and looks back at him, begging him with her eyes to tell her that it isn't true.

But she knows it is.

And he knows she knows.

And he knows Sera. Good old conscientious Sera: trustworthy, law-abiding, kind.

_She's going to tell_.

And that's when the panic kicks in. He can't have her tell. It would ruin his career. There's no way he's going to be President if she tells. Four hard, grueling years of poison and nightmares and roses. Down the drain. If she tells, he would've become a murderer for nothing. He'd have to live with all the guilt, all the nightmares, for _nothing_. He's gone too far for him to go back now. He's done too much. _He has to stop her._

So he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He licks his puffy, swollen lips. "Do you want a drink?"

Sera—beautiful, innocent Sera—who doesn't realize he wants the position more than he wants her, takes it.

"I'm sorry."

(The look in her eyes before she dies haunts him in the years to come.)

\

When the old President finally gives up the office, they hold an election amongst the rich and influential members of the Capitol.

Coriolanus Snow wins, by a landslide.

(But his head hurts and he tastes blood, and he thinks, _This doesn't feel like winning._)

\

As the years pass, he grows to like the Victors that suffer most the best.

The "weak" ones. The ones that suffer, the ones that get nightmares every night, and succumb to morphling and alcohol and painkiller. The ones who yell and scream at him, '_You don't know anything!_'

(_Oh, I _do_ know._)

They call him a monster, and maybe it's true. But there's something wonderful about watching innocent children turn into cold-blooded murderers, and it's even more wonderful watching their slow spiral into insanity, watching them suffer and get nightmares.

It's his sick way of making himself feel better.

Yes, some of the Victors use alcohol. Others use morphling. Others simply take it. He? He finds joy in making others like him.

How else will he survive it? How else will he fend off the nightmares? Adriana's laugh, Gloria ruffling his hair, the time Chrome complimented his work.

And Sera.

This is his way of coping. And he watches as allies turn on each other and fourteen-year-olds commit murder and smiles as he places the crowns on each head of each "Victor."

Yes, he is paranoid. Yes, he is horrible and sick and sadistic. Yes, he is a monster.

(But, oh, aren't they all?)

* * *

This is the first time I've tried to do something like this, so feedback would be great. I'm hoping that Snow seems human without losing that evil quality.

R&R, please?


End file.
